Revisionist History
“You eatin’ that?” the kid asked. “No,” Dorian said in absent voice. “Lost mah appetite.” He nudged the plate across the table with his free hand. The other pressed the dog eared pages of a little book apart as he read. The book, a cheap production in the “two-bit dreadful” style, was a collection of ridiculous tales and black ink drawings. “Gunfighters of the Outer Rim” was proving to be a laughable piece of work, though to study the highlights and scribbles which filled the margins it was obvious that this kid held the little tract in almost biblical esteem. “This is preposterous,” he curled his lip in distaste. “Ah didn’t outdraw No Nose Billy McGhee.” “But you killed ‘im…dincha?” The kid had stopped shoveling barbecue long enough to muffle the question. Adler fixed him with a severe gaze. “Yes…aftah he got off four shots first.” As the obvious question arose in the teenager’s expression, he rolled his eyes. “Ah can’t believe Ah’m explainin’ mahself,” he muttered. “No Nose was runnin’ right at me, shootin’ as he came. He was also drunk, and his marksmanship suffered for it.” He took a sip from his own glass. “Ah was tryin’ tah talk him outta tha whole mess. Didn’t lift mah pistol til his second shot. Ah didn’t fire til he got so close his next wouldn’t miss.” The look in the kid’s eye was a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “But you’d cheated him at cards,” he protested. “Ah don’t cheat, least not at cards.” “You’re sayin’ it wasn’t over a card game gone bad?” “The only folk who draw pistols ovah card games are amateurs,” Dorian replied. “Billy won and lost fortunes two, three times a week. Comes with tha territory.” He refilled his glass, this time a bit taller. As he lifted his drink, he cast a look through the windows. Fed soldiers were still sweeping the town, apparent good news that Devron hadn’t yet been apprehended. The kiln would be safe to move in about twenty minutes. He’d consider his chances of an unmolested return to Lunar Veil at that time. “So, what caused the duel?” Duel. It was almost comical, but more unsettling, to be challenged over his own history. “A woman,” Dorian replied. “It seems No Nose Billy was a jealous man. Got it inta his head that Ah’d availed mahself of his girl’s affections.” “Didja?” “Perhaps.” No need to explain to this kid that at the moment of Billy’s drunken charge, Dorian stood his ground primarily because his trousers were around his ankles. “Son, Ah see how much yah’ve enjoyed readin’ this book,” he looked up at the kid, “but except for a few pistol mad farmboys gettin’ themselves killed, tha rest of us try tah be professional. We hire our services, an’ we follow a code…” “Wait,” the kid interrupted. “You’re tryna tell me that this book is all Mǎ shǐ …like you never fought a duel with Lefty Du-Fres-ny?” “That’s Du-Fresne,” the gunfighter replied. “Tha “E” sounds like “A,” and tha “S” is silent. There was a duel…not guns blazin’ and sworn blood enemies,” he said. “We hired as seconds fah two little rich boys whose courage ran out before they could lift pistols. Lefty an’ Ah made ten paces, turned, and fired our guns intah the air. Turned out the girl they were squabblin’ ovah had written them each a love letter the night before. Boys learned what it meant tah be played fah their affections, an’ me’n Lefty got well paid for the teachin’.” “So you’re not enemies?” The kid was crestfallen. “Ah’ve worked on his children’s teeth.” “He’s got kids?” Adler nodded. “And a wife, and five hundred acres of some pretty territory. We’re not brigands, son…contrary tah this ‘work,’ Ah’ve nevah been called ‘Death’s Doctah.’ An’ this list….’The Fastest Draw?’ he chuckled. “Shows me as Numbah three? There’s six of these folk who’re faster than me. An down there? Numbah nine? Jeanne-Anne Cuthbert? Take mah word. She is tha fastest gun alive…no if’s, ands, or buts.” “What?” the kid was astonished. “She’s faster than Blackjack Bob O’Halleran?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Evahbody’s faster’n Blackjack Bob. He got that name when someone swore it took him twenty-one seconds tah draw.” He laughed at the memory. “If he’s toppin’ that list, it’s because he gave it tah the author.” He nudged the book across the table. It’s owner regarded it without picking it up. “I was gonna ask for your autograph.” “Not on that,” Adler said as he reached into his pocket. A moment later, he handed the business card to the teenager. His signature was neatly written on the back, beneath which he’d added a message for the boy. #7 “Now,” Dorian said, “if yah don’t mind, ‘Death’s Doctah’ could use a hand out back to lift somethin’.” “Sure,” the kid agreed. “Can you tell me about this code you talked about?” Adler dropped payment on the bar, nodded his farewells to Carlotta, and replied, “it’s a simple list of standards an’ behaviors we follow…some of us more’n others,” he added. “First…any day yah don’t have tah draw is a good day.” “That reminds me,” the boy said as they went out the backway. “Can I hold one of your guns?” “Nope.”